


Hazel and Green

by bluebirdling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jilytober 2020, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebirdling/pseuds/bluebirdling
Summary: The first time hazel met green, it had been at the slid of a compartment door and amid raucous laughter. Contrary to popular belief, there hadn't been any sparks of any sorts, just wariness of a new world and curiosity of the new girl.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Hazel and Green

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Peaches, because of whom I came up with this idea of a fic several months ago on call and has been sitting in my drafts ever since. Hope you like it, sweetie.

The first time hazel met green, it had been at the slid of a compartment door and amid raucous laughter. Contrary to popular belief, there hadn't been any sparks of any sorts, just wariness of a new world and curiosity of the new girl.

* * *

The twenty first time hazel met green, maple syrup ran down her pale face, fury alight in her bright green eyes. He tried to hold back his laughter, but that just seemed to anger her further. The prank had backfired and he landed in the hospital wing with a face filled with boils.

* * *

The one hundred and eleventh time hazel met green, she smacked him across the face leaving a stinging red mark, angry at him for hurting her best friend. It hardly fazes him, and although he barely had a hand in Sirius' brilliant prank, he lets her scream her heart out to him.

* * *

The two hundred and thirty third time hazel met green, he stares at her amused face from the ground. Pulling himself up to his feet effortlessly with a hand already in his hair, a rather nervous habit of his, he grins as her face hardens.

Maybe it's the spell Mulciber hit him with just minutes ago, or maybe it's the stream of blood trickling down the back of his head, or maybe it's the way his stomach does a full acrobatic da _nce when he sees her, or the way he can't stop bloody thinking about her,_ or the way anything red makes him think of her hair and anything green makes him think about her eyes, and the fact that she's the reason he has a strange infatuation with the Beatles and butterscotch ice cream and chess.

Or maybe it's none of them at all.

And tough he hardly knows what possessed him to do so, he can't stop himself before the words fly out of his mouth.

"Got time for me next week on Hogsmeade, Evans?"

He watches as an array of emotions run across her face, before, at last, settling on rage.

Needless to say, the answer is a loud, unspoken no.

* * *

The five hundred and seventy sixth time hazel met green, he's the one who's angry. He doesn't understand how she can let them just trample her pride and dignity like it's _nothing_. It's not fair.

She sends a glare his way, as if sensing what he's about to do. But he doesn't care. It doesn't matter if she'll hate him more. It doesn't matter if he'll regret this later, although he's entirely sure he won't.

Because she deserves more than that. She deserves _so_ much more than that.

And he'll be damned if he allows those bastards to get away with it. So he lets his hand take control and attach itself to Mulciber's jaw.

It's his first fist fight, the muggle version of duelling, and it's so bloody _wonderful_. All the more wonderful that he's doing it for _her,_ although he knows she'll be waiting in the Hospital Wing when he wakes up just to humiliate and degrade him.

And he knows he's whipped when he realises he's looking forward to it.

* * *

The seven hundred and eighty ninth time hazel met green, tears rest on her pale cheeks. He wants to wipe them away, to envelope his arms around her shaking body, to press his face to her red hair and tuck those stray strands away from her face, to whisper that it'll be alright, to assure her that she deserves so much more than that slimy git.

He's glad she's finally come to her senses and seen that bastard for what he truly is. But he knows she's just lost her best mate—he's been in the same situation after all—and blames him for it all. Just like he knows she'll hex him to pieces if he'll so much as take a step towards her. She's _terrifying_ when she's angry and it makes her so much more beautiful.

So he lets her scream at him, not bothering to wipe away the spit that sprays and lands on his face.

But when she sinks to the ground and can't even form a single coherent word, he can't help himself. He drops to the ground and pulls her towards him.

At first she struggles, but at last gives in, clutching his robes and sobbing her heart out. He strokes her hair, not saying a single word, just holding her.

He looks down. Her mascara is gone and completely wiped away, there's clear snot just below her nose, her cheeks are flushed and eyes puffy.

And, yet, he can't think of a more beautiful sight he's seen in this entire world.

Before he can so much as blink his eyes, she scrambled to her feet and runs away without so much as a goodbye or glance behind her.

And, as he lays his head on the cool wall behind him and tilts his eyes upwards, he realises he's in love.

He knows it's stupid. He knows it doesn't make sense in the least. He knows he's only sixteen.

But he's in love.

And he positively _hates_ it.

* * *

The one thousand seven hundred and twenty first time hazel met green, she's already looking at him. To his surprise (and complete, utter joy) she doesn't look away but instead stands up and makes her way over to him, a small smile resting easily on her face.

He knows he's been civil lately, ever since they came back to school. Most of the pranks he'd done were kept silent and traces wiped. So then what, in the world, would she have to talk to him about then?

Before he can come to any conclusions, she plops herself on the seat opposite to him, smiling shyly at him.

Something's changed.

And although he didn't mature for her, it sure is a perk for getting his bigoted head out of his arse. One he can't deny that he loves.

She asks him about the Transfiguration homework, then about his Christmas holidays, then about the upcoming quidditch match. And he answers every single question dutifully, overthinking every word. He can't mess this up. She's finally within a ten meter radius of him without hexing him or wanting to hex him.

_He's come so far._

Lily Evans is talking to him.

They're having a _civil_ conversation.

And tough he wants nothing more than to firmly plant his lips on hers, to press his person up hers, to drag his hands through her hair, he reins in his stupid hormones.

He's not going to mess this up.

He's _not._

It's bloody _torture_ , having to sit this close to her without being able to do anything to her.

But it's all worth it when, after an hour, she turns back on her way to the girl's staircase and says, "Good night, James."

It's the best bloody line he's heard in his entire life.

* * *

The two thousand and forty second time hazel met green, she beams at him as she enters the compartment. He has a sense of deja-vù, except this time, she's not scowling or glaring.

And thank Merlin for that.

He smiles right back. It's the first time he's been at ease since he entered the platform. It's been nearly a month and he still can't believe it.

He's Head Boy.

She's Head Girl.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't have some fantasies over the summer. But his teenage hormones can't be helped. And if she didn't fancy him for the past six years, she won't start now. Or anytime soon.

He's got to get over her.

He's got to move on.

As she greets the prefects, new and old, and gets the meeting started, a single line runs though his head—one his mother made very clear since the early days of his childhood alongside the fairytale that he would one day find his true love.

And being like the sap that he is, he believed them.

_Love isn't unconditional._

He smiles at the prefects.

_Not everyone returns the love you give them._

He gives his speech, occasionally putting in a few lines in between the Head Girl's.

_Remember that, James._

He answers the questions the prefects ask _,_ making sure not to get too close to her.

When the meeting is over and done with, he cleans up, indulging in mild chatter with her and Remus. And, as he exits the Prefect's compartment, he waves her goodbye.

He's over her. For good.

Or so he thought.

* * *

The three thousand and ninety eighth time hazel met green, he's holding the firewhisky bottle to his lips. Usually, he'd wave them off, claiming that he wanted to be left alone. Yet, she didn't give him much of a choice when she slid down next to him.

They've come closer in the past months during their Head duties, and living in close quarters of the Head Dorms didn't help much. Now he knows things most people wouldn't know about her.

Like how she loves staring at the moon at 2a.m. Or how she loves to send Tuney, her sister, mini-Howlers on an occasional basis just to get her spirits up. Or how she eats chocolate every night before going to bed to get rid of the taste of toothpaste. Or how she claims that her favourite flavour is butterscotch but it's actually mint. Or how she reads the Chronicles of Narnia on repeat in the privacy of her dorms to remind herself of her childhood. Or how she absolutely adores Potions and hates Slughorn because he's far too forward.

She snaps him out of his daze by holding a weird shaped green tinted (like her eyes) to his face.

"Drink up."

He's about to tell her that she shouldn't be encouraging such stuff (when had he become such a nincompoop?) but tells the voice in his head to sod it and takes the glass, bringing it to his lips.

As soon as the liquid hits his throat, he wants to claw it back up. It burns like fire, going down fast and quick.

He quells the urge to shout and acts as if nothing happened. She looks at him as if she knows what's going on, which she probably does.

They sit in silence, him brooding over the fact that this is his last Quidditch match in Hogwarts.

They won, and they won't win again. The Cup is Gryffindor's and it won't ever be again, at least not under his name.

It was his last match. His last time on the pitch.

And, shockingly, he's at peace with it.

He stands up, holding out a hand to her. The liquor he had consumed minutes ago seemed to be taking its toll.

And he can't seem to stop thinking about his lips on her. He can't believe he's thinking about this right now.

He was over her.

He _is_ over her.

He internally kicks himself, turning around to help her up. She takes his hand and pulls herself up, starting down the corridor.

It takes him a moment to realise she still hasn't let go of his hand.

And it's driving him _mad._

This certainly isn't helping. Not in the least.

He's so consumed by the feeling of his hand in her's that he doesn't realise where they're going until she stops right in front of the portrait.

She tickles the pear and the tapestry swings open to reveal the kitchens. Pulling him in by his hand (which she still hasn't let go of) she makes her way through the welcoming house elves.

She grins back at him as she opens a cabinet (and finally lets go although he can't be certain wether he's glad or wants it back) and pulls out yet another bottle of firewhisky.

He groans, "Christ, Evans."

She smirks.

_What a shit-eating grin._

"Shut up and drink. You'll need to be sloshed for the question."

"What question?"

"The one I'll ask you when you're tipsy good and through."

"Why not now?"

But he pulls a chair up anyway as Snappy (at least that's what he thinks is her name, he's never been good with them) brings two glasses to which she waves away. Popping the cork with a familiarity that shocks him, she takes a swig and gives it to him.

It's clear she's not going to give in, so he drinks it in, all the way till there's not a single drop in the bottle.

"So now, Evans, what's the question?"

Everything is rather disoriented, but he manages to keep a straight head. She looks hesitant, trailing her finger in circles over the rim of the bottle.

"I honestly don't think this is the best time, but—"

After what seems like forever, she continues. The line is rather rushed, and he's almost certain he's dreaming.

But he's not. She just said it.

_"Will you go out with me, James?"_

He doesn't answer. Instead he grabs her hand and pulls her close to him.

And does the thing he's been so cowardly and desperate to do since he was twelve, the thing he's been so curious about, the thing he's spent sleepless nights fantasising about.

He kisses her.

* * *

The five thousand fifty ninth time hazel met green, he's frowning and she's frustrated. He doesn't want her to go on this mission. It's too dangerous.

Even if she claims it's the same thing he says every time she does something dangerous

But they're in the midst of a war. They're fighting in the front lines. They're three months fresh out of school.

Sirius works full time under the Order, because he's a Black and money's no longer an issue for him after his uncle's death. Remus lives with him, even reluctantly so. Peter's a lobby man in the Ministry of Magic, working undercover, so he gets a good pay. Marlene has blood money, and Dorcas lives with her.

But Lily quit her internship under the Potions Division in the Ministry of Magic in Cardiff a month in. And flat out refused his offer to move in.

Now she works a part time job in a Muggle company to barely get by. And she's going on this mission which could very much get her killed.

He can't lose her.

Maybe it makes him a completely whipped boyfriend, but he can't _live_ without her.

He just _can't._

But he knows she's not going to give in. She's stubborn, and it's one of those very reasons he fell for her in the first place.

Doesn't mean he can't _try._

"Absolutely _not."_

She sighs, "James, I know you're worried but—"

"No, absolutely no. I won't allow it."

Her patience is wearing thin. He senses a storm coming.

Gripping the battered counter of her tiny kitchen, she clenches her jaw, "James—"

"No, you can't—"

And, just like that, a fuse blows up.

"Do you think this is new to me? Do you think I haven't gone through this a _thousand times_ when you went on those order missions to the states? When you wouldn't come at the time you were supposed to? When I come to your flat with no one there?"

Their noses are almost touching, anger burning behind those green irises. She steps back, turning and throwing her hands in the air.

"I _need_ this, James. I can't just sit here when you all are fighting and making an actual _difference._ "

It hits him hard and cold.

Is this how she felt all this time?

"I can't just sit in the house and go to the office every day knowing you're doing something and I'm just doing... _nothing._ "

She looks shaken, _relieved_ that it's all finally coming out.

"I want to go to this mission. I _need_ to go on this mission. You know I'm going no matter what. So can we please not argue about it?"

He doesn't know what to say, standing stock still and staring at her.

She sighs, "I _know_ how you're feeling. I've been through it all, remember?"

A pang of guilt hits his heart.

"And I know you don't particularly like or want me to go."

Well, that's an understatement.

"But I'm going. For myself. And for those muggle-borns who need my help. _Please,_ James."

He knows she's going to go. He knows he's not going to stop her.

But he wants her to know something before she goes.

The words had been on the tip of his tongue since the day they left Hogwarts. He almost slipped every damn day, when she would pass the salt or when she would give him a massage after a bad day out or when she gives him something he almost forgot just before he's out of the door.

A simple thank you followed by those not-so-simple three words.

The same three words that's been driving him _insane._

Pulling her in and wrapping his arms around her, he presses his face into her hair.

A sigh escapes his lips.

"I know, love. I'm sorry."

He brings her in closer, dreading it. Dreading _her_ response.

It doesn't matter, though. He's got to say it. He needs her to know. And he _desperately_ needs to get it off his chest.

"I love you, Lily."

She's probably going to run for the hills. Quite literally so, considering they're in Fabian and Gedion's cottage for the night which is surrounded by rolling green pastures, one of the Order's hideouts.

His mind spirals with the endless scenarios, his heart waiting for the inevitable push of her hands, already planning for a drunken night in Sirius' flat.

He's so caught up in his head that he almost misses the tightened grasp of her hug—albeit, it comes after a pause but she's shocked after all—and the words that are returned.

"I love you too, James."

* * *

The seven thousand eighty third time hazel met green, she's fanatic, telling him to hold on, assuring him that it's going to be okay. He knows it's not his time yet. He knows he's got to stay, for her and the Order.

So he doesn't let go, clinging to the soft feel of her hand. And she squeezes back from time to time.

Hours later, she's sleeping soundly next to him on the hospital bed, limbs tangled, soft blows of breaths falling on his bare chest.

It's been nearly a year since they left Hogwarts. The war's become more intense, nearly tearing them apart. He's lost his parents and she's lost hers, both in drastically different situations. They've faced Voldemort, once together, once apart.

She's become a part of the Marauders, a honorary one. And become a part of their lives they couldn't even imagine living without.

A part of his life _he_ couldn't imagine living without.

He reaches into the bag on the bedside table and pulls out the velvet box his mother had given him just days before she went on the mission that cost her her life. A family heirloom for the girl who was to become his family.

If she wasn't already.

Turning it over and over in his hands he waits for her to wake up. He's going to ask her now. The casualties of war increased daily and he wasn't going to wait until he was one of the casualties.

He wants to marry her _now_. He wants to be able to call her his wife and have her in his arms when he woke up every morning, instead of the empty space he has to deal with daily.

He's already lost so much. He wasn't going to lose her too.

He feels her stir beside him, fingers twitching as she wakes from her deep slumber. He doesn't bother hiding the box. If he didn't do it now he wasn't sure he would ever have the courage to do it.

She rubs the tip of her nose against his stubble. He can feel the smile forming on her lips.

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

He grimaces, "Absolute shit"

Laughing, she reaches for the box in his hands, "Well, that's understandable. What's..."

The question hangs precariously in the air, her eyes widening as she realises just _what_ she's holding.

Transferring to a sitting position, she turns to him.

"Is–is this—"

"Mother's ring? Yeah."

She breaths in, visibly shaken, "Oh, James. I know you miss her. It's been nearly a month and I know you need time to—"

_...what?_

He jolts, grabbing her arm, "Lily, what are you _on_ about?"

She frowns, "I–I don't—"

A short bark of laughter escapes his lips, "Merlin, Lils, I'm trying to propose to you and you're going on about how much I mi _ss_ my _mother_?"

She stares at him, then back at the velvet case in her hand. Her face pales then blanks out. After a pause, "You call this proposing?"

James clenches his jaw. Well he hadn't thought about _that_. Lily must think him the worst boyfriend in the world. And she hadn't said yes.

A complete twit, that's what he was.

She's still waiting for an answer.

Reaching for her hand, he linked his fingers with hers, noting the fact that she didn't pull away.

"When we're out of this mad building, I'll take you out for a day in Italy. There's little impact of the war there. Maybe, we can get into one of those long boats—"

"Gondolas"

"Right, gondolas. I'll pay the man extra to take us to a secluded spot and while you're seeing the view on the other side, I'll propose. _Properly_."

She raises an eyebrow, "On a bended knee?"

"On a bended knee."

"With a ring in hand?"

"Impossible to propose without those, love."

She rubbed her thumb on the box before handing it back to him, resting her head on his chest once again.

"And, when I do propose—"

She looked up, "Yeah?"

He hesitated, "Will you say yes?"

"I'm not asking you to propose for a second time if I'm saying no, James. Besides, decent husbands are hard to come by."

He laughed, "Right."

"I love you, James."

"Terribly hard not to."

She hit him with a pillow.

* * *

The time hazel met green, she's walking down the aisle in a flowing white dress, just like how he's imagined her do thousand times over. Towards _him_. He hadn't quite anticipated that.

He hadn't quite anticipated her to say yes, either. But she's there. She hasn't run away. Or left him in the altar.

The rest passes in a blur, up till when she said "I do". And he says it back.

There's no Evans anymore. But there's a Lily Potter. And not on a scarp of paper, either.

Pulling her in for a kiss, he rests his forehead on hers.

"You can't escape me now, love."

Lily, Lily _Potter_ , laughs, "Wasn't planning on it."

He drops his lips down to hers.

* * *

The last time hazel met green, they're dancing in the living room. Lily's just put Harry to bed as James cleans the room. James, being the romantic that he is, decides to put on some slow music for them to dance to.

He tugs her closer, breathing in the smell of her hair. He has everything he's ever wanted, even if the conditions aren't exactly ideal.

A family. A son sleeping soundly the next room over. A wife in his arms. One that he's completely and truly in love with, even _years_ later.

And they're safe with him.

For now, anyways.


End file.
